


138 - Dakota (by Stereophonics)

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Reader-Insert, Songfic NonCatfish, Teenage Van
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 10:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17405405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompts “something where Van and the reader drop out of school together to pursue the band?” and “you were his only ever girlfriend when he was young, all the songs from the two albums are about you, you were like, meant to be, the happiest couple ever, baby plans and shit… but then you kinda starts to stand out at your job and he has to tour more, so he decides to break up with u, even though you still wanna make things work? then you get depressed and triggered, but you guys never stopped loving each other and meet after years” and “reader and Van have been dating for quite some time and that their relationship is starting to get difficult because Van is caught up with touring, and that he is starting to like the fame and recognition he’s getting. Maybe Van is starting to think that maybe it’s best for them to break up or something? I kinda want a not so happy ending kind of story….”





	138 - Dakota (by Stereophonics)

**Author's Note:**

> You have to listen to Dakota by Stereophonics before, during, and after you read this.

Verse 1  
[Thinking back, thinking of you. Summertime, think it was June. Yeah, think it was June. Laying back, head on the grass. Chewing gum, having some laughs.   
You made me feel like the one.]

"I'm in love with you," Van said. You rolled your eyes and threw your math textbook at him; purposefully aiming to miss. It was heavy with the weight of all the pain it had inflicted on you and the countless students who came before. "And I'm in love with this dope. And this fucking record. Did I tell you Dad's taking me to see them next month?" The sound of Dakota filled the smoky room.

"Don't think he's gonna take you when he finds out about school," you replied as you took the joint from Van's hand.

"Nah. He's gotta know school wouldn't be my thing, you know? Really gotta focus on the band. Dead sure we can make it,"

"But you don't have a backup plan,"

"Don't need one… We're gonna make it."

Van was so, so confident that his high school rock band was going to get him to stadium gigs and musical stardom. You snuck into the hallway of his house and watched as he told Mary and Bernie he was dropping out of school because of that belief. 

"Van, they kicked you out," Bernie said.

"Nah. Mutual decision," Van grinned. Mary's face was blank, and Bernie shook his head.

"My boy… The world is… It's hard to make it in music. You know that," he told his firstborn, only born.

"I know. We're good, though. We got Larry and Y/N to keep us in check and tell us when we're writing something shit. I just… School's doin' my head in. I promise I can do this. Ma, I'll buy you a jacuzzi. And you," Van said, pulling his seat up next to Bernie and holding his shoulders, looking into his father's eyes, "I will make you so fucking proud. I promise."

You lasted only a month in school without the guys. There was a fight between your parents and Mary and Bernie. They called Van reckless and a bad influence, which was true, but Mary said that Van would always look after you, and surely that is all they could want for you - to be happy and loved until the very end of your days.

Verse 2  
[Drinking back, drinking for two. Drinking with you, when drinking was new. Sleeping in the back of my car. We never went far. Didn't need to go far.   
You made me feel like the one.]

The best years of your life were those spent in the shitty tour van with the guys. You were as in love with them as they were with you. The harder you all worked for the band, the easy life was. No time to fight about petty things. You shared the little food you had, you slept on top of each other, and you had each other's backs. That's all there was.

Sometimes, if it was all quiet and everyone was asleep, you'd sneak off with Van.

"What about Ignacia?"

"That's a good one. For a boy?" you asked him.

"Probably after my dad? Or… your family,"

"Funny, Van. Bernie is literally the greatest human alive. Bernard the Second it is."

With a lack of perspective, you thought you could have it all. The band. The boy. The babies. The cake, eaten. Travelling around the U.K., around Europe, it was easy to see how all of it could work. Logistics didn't matter, and Van continually told people he was the luckiest person alive. He probably was.

 

Bridge  
[I don't know where we are going now.]

"What do you mean?" you asked, voice quiet and tears welling up in your eyes. Van stepped closer, his face mirroring yours; all sadness.

"I asked. I did. But-"

"Is Larry going?"

"Yeah, 'cause he's written as our guitar tech. You know. Actually does something-"

"What?!" you yelled, stepping back. Hurt.

"No, babe, I didn’t mean it like that. The label, see, they just say-"

"They say I'm just a girlfriend? Right? Groupie? Don't. Just, stop, Van," you interrupted, pulling your jacket around you tighter, trying to self-comfort.

Their very first overseas gig, and you'd not get to be there. If you were rich kids from privileged families, you could have just bought your own airfares and followed them. But, you weren't. All you could do was let Van try to fuck your unhappiness away the night before they left, and drop them at the airport the day of.

It set a precedent. You never once got to tour other continents with them. When they were back in the U.K. you could, but it meant taking time of your horrible retail job, which meant running the risk of getting fired. So, you didn't always tour with them. 

Slowly, painfully, it became very obvious that dropping out of school for Van was a bad life decision. You'd worried about him not having a backup plan, but then, in the emptiness of the house he'd left behind, you knew you should have worried about yourself. No formal qualifications; not even a high school degree. You were smart and kind and a fast learner, but you had little work history and not at a lot of people that could speak for your worth. You talked the darkness out of your mind with reassurances that at least you had Van.

The one good thing left in your disappointing life, Van was a promise that everything would be okay. You'd have babies - Ignacia and Baby Bernie - and he'd get famous enough that he could demand you were there with him and nobody could say a thing. There would be enough money for you to not have to work. Instead you'd play the role of A fucking plus housewife. The smell of freshly baked cookies and the sounds of happy children and music and life and love. And everything would be okay.

…

Things started to get hectic. Catfish's second album was highly anticipated, and somehow they had Dave Sardy producing it. It was a big deal, and as you watched Van, all grown up, pace in the living room of his parent's house you knew this was it. You expected him to turn around and tell you so; to hold your chubby cheeks in his hands and look at you with so much love that it would burn, and say "Y/N, we've fuckin' done it." That's not what happened though. Instead, you followed him outside for a smoke and waited for him to speak.

"Think maybe you should think about starting in a job you actually like?"

"Why?" you asked, confused.

"Well… we’ll be gone for a while recording, then probably touring for a while after that too. Don't want you to get bored, you know?" It wasn't that it was an outright lie. He didn't want you to be bored, that was true. However, there was something else in his voice that you couldn't read.

"I'm not allowed to come?"

"Haven't asked," he replied. And with those words, a sick dread snaked down your spine from your mind and settled in your stomach and in your heart. His first thought wasn't you.

"Okay. Well. James said they need more staff at Lush over Christmas. I could do that, and like, try to be a manager or something,"

"Sounds good. You love all that bath stuff," he said with a shrug. The shrug hurt you. 

"Yeah."

So, that's what you did. Van left for the States and you started selling bath bombs to people happier than you. Acting out of spite, you only spoke to Van when he called. The problem was that the calls became more and more spaced apart. Instead of processing that, processing what was happening, you spent more time at work, even when you were not rostered on. 

The company took it as a sign of a good work ethic, and you were promoted to assistant store manager. When James moved to a Lush head office, you took his first manager role. You didn’t mean to fall in love with it all, but you were good at your job. Distracting yourself with making other people happy stopped being a chore and became your lifeline. The fizzing colours in the water, the smells of flowers and sugar, the makeovers and body positivity - all of it started to shape you into a person that maybe could survive the world.

When Van came home he said he hardly recognised you. "You're… all bubbly and shit… Like one of them girls in the store,"

"What's wrong with the girls in the store?" you asked back.

"Nothing. Not sayin' it's a bad thing. You're just… different,"

"So are you."

He was. How seriously people were taking his band had had an effect on him. He was calmer, more focused. Nights home were spent writing songs and learning world geography, so that he'd understand where in the world he was. That's how you worked out he was leaving again. Google Maps was open and he'd mapped the entire globe. Then, he lingered awkwardly in the kitchen doorway while you made dinner.

"So… The lease here is up next month," he said. You knew what he was really saying, or asking, but you wanted him to verbalise it. "Did… Do you want to stay here?"

"Why wouldn't I, Van?"

"Thought maybe you might want to move in with one of your friends?" he said, trying to frame it like he was looking out for you. The fact that he couldn't name any of your friends was proof that he wasn’t. "Don't you get lonely here?"

"If I did, would it matter?" you muttered under your breath. He heard and stood up straight, arms folding across his chest.

"I-"

"Yeah. You're right. Cass is looking for a housemate, so it's good timing," you said.

"Okay. I'll organise it all. Cass will look after you?" he asked, looking at you carefully.

"Yeah, she will." If she existed, which she didn't. You'd not met nor mentioned a Cass to Van in your entire life. He nodded and walked from the room.

…

You hired people to help you move in with Daisy. You'd met her at work and when they realised she was good with the makeup and skincare, and you were good with the bath bombs and glitter, they'd rostered you on together all the time. You directed one truck, filled with Van's stuff, to Mary and Bernie's. Yours followed you. Daisy asked you how you were on the first night.

"Okay," you answered.

"Okay as in - this is a logical way to live while he's touring, or okay as in - I'm about to break down?"

"Both."

Like when you were kids, when there was so much to do and focus on that you never had time to worry or fight, you had hoped that without your loneliness for Van to worry about, and your work occupying your time, things would be better. That somehow, maybe, you'd settle into a pattern of living that could respark the dreams of happiness and children and love. Instead, the dread got worse and worse.

It was fuelled by the photos and videos of Van on tour. He was clearly happy and not at all weighed down by knowing he was leaving you behind. He didn't answer his phone anymore, a manager or someone else did for him. When you could speak, he'd spend the entire time talking about himself and the band and the fans and all the things they'd tell him about being in love with him. You didn't want to believe that Van was someone that could let it all go to his head, but as you watched a live stream of him in South America and saw the way he treated his guitar and equipment, with such disregard for if it broke or who had to run on stage to fix it all, you wondered how else he had changed.

When he came home for Easter, he broke up with you. You were quiet and although you expected the day to come, it didn't make the blow any less worse. Like watching someone die of cancer; knowing the inevitability of the end doesn't make the end comprehensible. It was still a white hot pain that bled into everything. He had a list of reasons that he'd clearly talked through with Larry. You could hear Larry's blunt logic in them.

One. You hate being recognised as his girlfriend, and now that he was "famous" that would happen more. People would write things about you online, and try to take photos of you all the time. He was protecting you, see.

Two. You would never get to see each other. The touring was just going to get more busy. Back to back shows. They were supporting Green Day later in the year, and who knows how big they'd get after that. Shouldn't have an absent boyfriend.

Three. You had been tied to Van your entire life. You deserved to have your own space and existence. "Make a real go of it," he said, like he'd not noticed that you'd already started that and were doing pretty fucking well.

You wanted to scream that none of that mattered. How was love not enough? How did it not trump all other considerations? Evidently, it did not. When you didn't cry or object, he smiled. It was mutual, he thought.

When Daisy got home later she held you as you cried until your eyes were puffy and you were too weak to move. 

 

Verse 3  
[Wake up call, coffee and juice. Remembering you. What happened to you? I wonder if we'll meet again. Talk about life since then. Talk about why did it end. So, take a look at me now.]

For a while you kept track of what Catfish were doing, what Van was doing. After a few months you stopped though. You had to move on. You started to date other people, which was fun but ultimately always meaningless. You couldn't fall in love while you still loved Van. A year later, working part time in the Lush store, part time in their head office helping to coordinate the philanthropy projects, you still thought about Van.

Orange freckles. Blue eyes. Off white teeth. Brown hair.

Long legs. Long eyelashes.

Rough fingertips on soft skin.

Tobacco smoke. Musk aftershave.

You could try all you wanted to forget it all, but it was etched into your memory like a tattoo stabbed into skin. Another six months didn't help.

…

In the café you used to go to with Van, you ordered fresh juice and fruit toast. You picked at the crust of it and twirled the mint leaves around in the glass of watermelon pulp and ice. You were spaced out, watching a dog across the street interact with another dog, when someone asked, "This seat taken?" You looked up and went to say that you were leaving anyway. But, Van. Van was standing there.

The way he looked at you, not saying anything, told you all you needed to know. He still loved you. The conversation didn't start. A coffee was placed in front of him, and he stirred sugar into it. Had he come to the café hoping to bump into you, or was he just ghosting the life he once had, like you were?

"How've you been?" he finally said. You chewed your lip and tried to think of a way to answer truthfully without making him feel bad. It was an impossible task though. When you couldn't answer and gave a half shrug, he nodded. "Yeah,"

"You?" you asked back.

"The band's good. We've kind of… we're doing what we dreamed of. The goal. It's all just icing on the cake at this point. So, that's good,"

"But you're good?" you asked again. You knew Catfish were great because you'd not sought out information about them, but they were big enough for it to find you anyway.

"Yeah. I… It's hard, though. Have to pick between the band and… everything else…" Van said. Everything else being you, a family, a life off stage.

"How's Larry? And the guys?"

"Good. The same. You know,"

"Yeah…"

What else was there to say?

"Y/N. I know this is a fucked up thing to ask, but… have you… are you… like, seeing anyone?"

"Um… Not right now… I've dated people, though… Why? Are you? Are you engaged or something?" you asked, and you meant it as a joke but as the words hit the air they sounded serious.

"No. Not seeing anyone. I tried, too. Didn't really feel right, you know?"

"Yeah," you replied, again. "But, like you said, you have to pick,"

"Do you think it's gonna be like this forever? I'm gonna have to just wait till the band is done before I'm allowed to be in love?" he asked like you could possibly know that. Heartache on anyone's face is sad, but on a face so pretty and usually so happy, it was tragic. You wanted to kiss him better.

"I don't know, Van. I'd say I feel bad for you, but like, you're a rockstar, so you kind of have things going for you, you know?"

He smirked at your sass. "I heard you're doing good though. Saw that 'all bodies are good bodies' thing you did at work,"

"How'd you know that was me?"

"Someone told me. Could'a guessed anyway. Very you," he said smiling with fondness. If that was a motto associated with you, then you'd raised yourself right. Van ran his finger around the rim of his coffee cup, staring into the milk. He didn’t look up when he said, "We should have stayed together."

It hit you, hard.

"Too late," you whispered, and he nodded. His eyes flicked up to you and you studied each other's faces for a moment. There were changes in both of you that you'd not been around to bear witness to. You shifted in your seat and checked your watch. "I've got to go, Van," you said. He nodded and stood when you did. You hesitated, but Van didn't. He pulled you into a hug and held you tight. For a second you thought he wasn't going to let you go. But, he did. "It was good to see you,"

"Yeah," he replied, "Maybe we can catch up again?"

"Yeah. Maybe." The smile you gave him was warm but too polite to mean anything. You walked out the café and knew you'd never go back.


End file.
